Souls Come In All Shapes And Packages
by maggalina
Summary: Are portraits really alive? The Department of Mysteries is going to find out.


"Papa, is that you?" asked the little girl as she heard footsteps approaching her, " I've missed you, Papa."

"Yes, I'm here," said Bode as he removed his outer robes revealing the robes that identified him as an Unspeakable.

"Papa? Why do you get so old while I do not feel old? Do I age, Papa?" The question had been weighing on her mind as she had watched her beloved Papa's hair change and watched his face wrinkle. What was special about her that she had stayed a little girl for such a long time?

"Of course you age, Wren, darling. You just don't look it because you are so perfect even Time herself does not hurt you. Now are you ready to play another game?"

"I am always ready, Papa. It is all we do together, all the games of love and joy and sorrow. You are all I have and this is all we do, so why would I not be ready."

"Bode!" called a voice from another room, "Come here immediately! I need you at once! " It was the voice of the supervisor over his project. He didn't sound pleased.

Boderick Bode had been working on this project for years now, it had been his first assignment and he still hadn't gotten a new one. It was an honour to have gotten it, and he was doing such great work. He was discovering more about humanity and love and he felt like Wren's father, though she was actually much older than him. She was a long abandoned project from before Bode knew when. She was found in the time room, she had forgotten she was alive at all. When asked she hadn't known her name, Bode had been allowed to name her and he chose her name based off the birds behind her. She was a beautiful portrait and it was his job to continue the research. His job was to discover the extent of humanity in portraits.

He arrived in the brain room where he was greeted with the disappointed stare of his supervisor Saul Croaker. Saul was the type of man to create a schedule and stick to it no matter what unforeseen circumstances might come up. The man had never heard of sleeping in and had most likely never gone anywhere over the hols. Bode suspected that he and his mum had planned his birth for maximum efficiency. This meant he was not the best supervisor for Bode. Boderick proffered to 'ride the waves of chance' so to speak. He took things as they came and didn't have a schedule in the first place. He frequently missed appointments and had almost missed buying the tickets for next year's World Cup. Needless to say they clashed on many occasions. Especially when that occasion was Wren.

Croaker had worked with Wren just about as long as Bode had. The difference being, Bode worked _with_ Wren and Croaker worked with Wren's schedule. Croaker had set certain dates to do Wren's experiments on and Bode had completely ignored them. Croaker had told Bode to move on from the 'Can a portrait love?' idea a while ago. He thought she was just emulating his love for working with her. Croaker held the belief that Bode was poisoning the experiment.

"Took you long enough to come, Boderick. Enjoying your time with the portrait again?"

"She has a name," snapped Bode annoyed at Croaker's dismissing tone, "Her name is Wren."

"No, Bode. She is a portrait of a little girl. The title of the portrait is Experiment 89-183. And it isn't your project anymore."

"No, you can't do that! I've been working on this project for five years now!" said Bode his voice breaking the despair.

"You haven't been working on the project for a long time now. You have been poisoning it. You will be reassigned and you should better hope that the experiment is still viable. I have been trying to get you off this project for a long time now. It can finally get back on track. With the attachment you have had her emulate it seems the perfect time to start working on if portraits can feel despair." the tone of Croaker's voice dripped with superiority and each word cut off a piece of Boderick's heart. It made him feel like he was dying and with each slice Croaker's smile grew.

Matthew Jones was assigned to experiment 89-183. He was perfect for Croaker's vision of the experiment. He was completely neutral in tone, never revealing emotion and he stuck to the schedule completely. Perfect. What wasn't perfect was Wren. All she wanted was her Papa back. Croaker had one final experiment he wanted to try before scraping the project all together and commissioning another portrait.

* * *

Bode came in the day of Wren's final experiment with his heart replaced with lead. He had had his heart shredded when they tried to see if portraits could feel pain. The pieces had been burned when they tested to see if portraits could feel fear. Now though, the ashes had been swept away and replaced with a chunk of lead at the thought of the torture Wren would go through today.

"It's Dementor Day!" smiled Croaker as Bode walked in to the office, "Experiment 84-183 is going to find out if it somehow has a soul! This really shouldn't be done this early on but it won't do anything else without crying for her Papa. I knew you ruined this, good thing we are getting new portraits commissioned!"

Wren stood with fear confined to her portrait and she wanted to cry out for someone but she couldn't think of who. It felt like all the happy times had been removed from her memory. And she was so cold. She had never been cold before, she didn't even know how she knew what cold was, but this was it. Nothing else could ever be cold again. It went further then her bones to a place she couldn't imagine. A place inside her she never knew existed. She thinks she might have felt something there before but only with the person that she wanted to cry out for. She had not been there for a long long time.

"It doesn't have a soul, sir." spoke the man who subjected her to torture in his perfectly neutral voice.

A soul, was that what she felt? But the man said she didn't have one. So what was it? Could she have a different kind of soul? A soul that gave her life? The man had called her a portrait. Did she have a portrait soul?

"That's that then," said the man with the clipboard who always seemed to watch from the corner, "You should burn the portrait. We just proved it isn't alive so no downside. Plus we don't have the space for this kind of clutter. Just don't do it in here, too messy."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh and don't forget to pick up the new ones."

"Yes, sir."

The man carried her outside and it was beautiful. Until it wasn't. Suddenly the cold she felt had an opposite. The heat it was almost consuming her. Every bit of pain sh had flt from the cold was matched by the heat. The only difference was now she had hope, now she could remember when she was happy. She could remember her Papa. And so she screamed his name.

"Papa! Papa! Papa!" she cried as she retreated to the far corner of her portrait.

"I'm here, Wren. I'm here for you. I'll save you," said her Papa. Then suddenly the heat was gone.

"It's okay, Wren. I'm here for you. I'm never going to leave you again. You are coming to my house."

"Do you still love me, Papa? Even though my wrens and pretty flowers and gone and my dress has been blackened?"

"I will always love you, Wren. Forever and for always, you will be my little girl."

* * *

And she was. She lived in his house upon the wall, still burnt and still loved. He had tried to repair her but you can repair people and Wren had a soul. It just came in a different package.


End file.
